Census
by stargazer84
Summary: "You are charged with the following Indictments: Theft of confidential files from the Department of Mysteries, Improper use of Magic in front of Muggle Government Officials, Resisting Arrest and Assault of a Magical Law Enforcement Agent, and lastly, you have broken the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, as defined by Clause 7. How do you plead?"
1. Part 1

A/N: I own nothing, just the idea of the story itself…

**Census**

**Part 1**

**Present Day**

"You are charged with the following Indictments…"

Tiberius Ogden, representative for Great Britain, aged 147, widowed, 2 daughters, 1 son, 1 granddaughter (6th year). Crippling gout in left foot, arthritic, right pinky no longer bends. Estimated time left: 10 years.

"Theft of confidential files from the Department of Mysteries…"

Griselda Marchbanks, presiding representative for Great Britain, aged 163, married to Angus Marchbanks, together they have 2 sons, 4 grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. Blind in her left eye, severe atrophy in her left arm, scratchy voice due to excessive coughing and scarring from a case of Scrofungulus. Estimated time left: 2 years.

"... Improper use of Magic in front of Muggle Government Officials, Resisting Arrest and Assault of a Magical Law Enforcement Agent…"

The chains tightened on that one. Even this blasted chair had opinions on the seriousness of crimes. The chair was a high back, wooden atrocity, and exceedingly uncomfortable. Criminals don't deserve comfort here. Courtroom Ten was the most depressing room for anyone to endure; criminals, Wizengamot, witnesses, even the Council on the International Confederation of Wizards were all subject to the dark humidity that seeped from the stone walls. Would it kill them to add a little more light? For crying out loud, Marchbanks was holding the paper at the end of her nose.

To the left, Sidley Pickerton, representative for Canada tucked a flyaway strand of gray hair under her plum hat. She was one of the youngest in the room. Aged 54, not married, no children and no illnesses recorded, she was one of the healthiest. Too bad the name Pickerton would die with her.

Then there was Heinrich Speilman, odd fellow, worked for the Committee of Experimental Charms before it was merged with the Department of Mysteries. He worked in what they called 'The Brain Room.' The tank in which held the brains of notable witches and wizards to be examined and probed for different spells and charms performed in the past. His job was to modify and adapt ancient spells that could now be classified as volatile, into something more manageable for everyday use. Poor soul was covered in scars from both the brains and the aftermath of spells gone wrong. Most notably, the scars on his forehead from where there were once horns. Speilman was 78, represented Germany, separated from his wife, he has very little contact with his only daughter after a spell went wrong in the house. Some say it had a lasting effect on her mental state. Besides the loss of contact from his family, and being subject to various enchantments on a daily basis, his estimated time left was roughly 30 years.

"Lastly, and the most heinous, you have broken the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, as defined by Clause 7, set forth in 1750, that all wizarding kind, beasts, beings, and spirits, are not to cause harm or draw immediate attention of the Muggle world to the Wizarding World in which we reside. You have informed not only the Muggle communities in Great Britain, but those surrounding it, including the United States, Canada, Mexico, almost all of Europe and reaching as far as Russia."

The chains tightened their grip once again, now threatening the circulation to the hands and feet. The rustled lightly, as though a breeze had passed through the room. Damn chair was enjoying its time in the spotlight. Who knows the last person it held so tightly…

"There has not been a breach this severe since the days of Grindelwald!"

Ahh, Arnold Hummell, the representative from the States. He really needs to learn to control his temper and outbursts. A man his age, 104, and habits, smoking and abhorrent diet, could cause his already high blood pressure to peak. Do wizards know how to help a heart attack? Surely, there must be some magical spell to counter one. But it would be best if the fat oaf sat back down, wouldn't want to strain ourselves, Arnny, besides he had 6 months tops.

"Yes, thank you Mr. Hummell. The accused has been assigned representation and the indictments and counts have been reviewed."

Marchbanks placed the paper she was holding on top of a very large file. The name clearly marked across the front of it, so larger that even she did not need to hold it so close to identify. Folding her hands in front of her and peering above the lens of her glasses.

"How do you plead?"

Laughable. Can that be the answer? No? Innocent, would mean that the acts they described weren't done. They were, there is no doubt about that. Stolen files, yep, took them home, made copies, distributed them even. Performed magic in front of Muggles, seriously, who hasn't? Oh, but in front of important ones that can't know, oops, did that too. Resisting Arrest, that was a bit of a reach, nobody _wants_ to be arrested, and defending yourself against spells that can disarm and contain you was more self defense. But the punch to Auror Crowdy's nose was a bit excessive, yet slightly enjoyable. Breaking International Secrecy...had to...and if they knew what was best for all of them, they would throw this trail in the Atlantic.

Guilty would mean that everything that did happen was wrong. It wasn't, it was for the greater good, as awful as that saying is and the horrible things that had been done under the 'innocence' of the phrase, this time...this time is was to benefit them all. Or there won't be anyone left…

The rattling chains meant the pause was too long. The feeling of the last two fingers on each hand were gone, painful pins and needles had taken over the feet. The chair creaked and cracked with the straightening of the back. Eyes cast down in one last decision. Innocent or Guilty?

Clear brown eyes met with the blue cataracts of the elder witch.

"Hermione Granger? How do you plead?"

Jaw set, inhale, smile.

"Guilty."


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

**5 Months Before the Trial**

The Department of Mysteries was aptly named. No one really knew what happened on the lower ninth floor of the Ministry of Magic, they knew there were doors, and those doors spun when you entered the main lobby. Good luck trying to find your way back out again. But the work that was done behind those doors was a complete secret. Those hired to work passed those doors had some of the highest security clearances in the Ministry.

After a merely minor incident in 1996, when a couple of Hogwarts students infiltrated the department, along with some Death Eaters, security had ramped up. No longer could you just open a door to one of the various outlets of the department and find yourself amongst clocks, brains, or prophecies. No, your wand had to hold an entrance spell in order to pass. The spell itself was created on this floor within a month of the breach.

Hermione Granger found herself in said lobby. She held onto her coffee with one hand, wand in the other. Focusing on the lipstick she left on the lid as the room began to spin. She found within the first week of working here, trying to watch the wall and pick out the doors as they moved caused her great motion sickness. So, she found something else to occupy her eyes in these brief moments.

It was a fun game every morning, if one considers failing to find their office on a daily basis fun, but Hermione enjoyed the 'challenge.' Although, she suspected she was cheating at this point. There was a small, hardly noticeable to the naked eye, piece of wood that had been chipped off from the hinge of the door she seeked. Once spotted, she could begin her day.

"An interesting thing, time…" were words that were once spoken to her. Along with a great responsibility.

If there was ever a doubt that magic existed, one simply had to enter the Time Room. Dancing in glittery light that cascaded from the bell jar in the entrance of the room, the rhythmic sounds of ticking filled her ears. It was only noticeable for the first few minutes of her day, then she would be able to drown them out. When she first landed her job in the Time Room, she would go home with a headache, and hear the clocks in her sleep. But soon, research and work helped her ignore the world around her.

There were many beautifully crafted clocks in the room. Some dating back to the 1600's. But her absolute favorite was the small glockenspiel wall tower by her desk. It was like a window to the outside world, even though she was deep underground. The clock stimulated the sun's, or moon's in the evening, movement throughout the day. Moving from east to west as the hours ticked past. But at hours twelve, three, six, and nine, the four seasons would animate across the face. Twelve o'clock brought Spring showers and the slow growth of flowers could be viewed until three. At which time a Summer thunderstorm would strike as well as heat waves rising to make the numbers hot and hazy to view. At six, the haze would fade to colorful leaves dropping from the top of the face. At times, an autumn breeze would cause them to swirl and pile up. At nine, a strong cold wind would blow them away. A frost would set on the face, and the occasional snow fall would begin to collect. Hermione couldn't give a reasonable explanation, but as the hours passed, the bells inside the clock would chime a song that perfectly described the season it was in. She could spend all day watching it. But that would be a waste.

She passed the low stacking shelves on her way to her desk smiling and nodding her good morning to the others in the room. She placed her bag and coffee down and took a quick glance at her clock. The snow was just beginning.

"It is six seconds behind the others."

Hermione turned to find Professor Saul Croaker glancing at his pocket watch, then back up to her clock.

Professor Croaker was a renowned Unspeakable. Having been the Head of the Time Room for the last twenty years, he had dedicated himself to the study of time and how it affects all beings. It was through him that Hermione was able to use a Time-Turner in her third year to take extra classes. Although the Time-Turners had been rendered useless during that little mishap that she may or may not have been involved with, she was a part of a team that was trying to create new ones with less ill effects.

Placing his pocket watch in his vest, the Professor took his wand from his belt and gave a simple flick of the wrist in the direction of her clock. A few more snowflakes were added to the ground.

"Can't have you falling behind this lot because a clock can't keep time." He whispered as he nodded his head in the direction of her coworkers.

"Professor, if anyone in this department is falling behind, it's not me." Hermione whispered back conspiritally.

"That, I'm afraid, is very true. In fact, we are about to be inundated with the most time sucking task of the decade. I could really use someone that has a strong worth ethic to help." He replied as he turned his head to watch the remaining Time-Turners fall from the shelf, disappear, then reappear on the shelf, only to repeat their actions over again.

"Of course. What do you need?" Hermione asked as she moved her bag off her desk and removed her notes and a quill.

"The Wizarding Census Reports from the Department of International Magical Co-operation are in. It is our job to put together the report of statistics about our populations, marriages, births, and deaths from Great Britain to be included within our own file. It doesn't hurt to look at the others as well, to see how their populations are faring. As a matter of fact, when I did the report in '78 I was considering a move to Australia. Apparently, more sun means more time on this planet. Highest growth of all wizarding communities it seems."

Hermione fidgeted in her chair at the mention of the country she banished her parents to. Hopefully, the same could be said for muggles as well. She liked to think that Monica and Wendell Wilkins were enjoying themselves on a warm sandy beach, cool drinks in hand, and associated with people that didn't threaten their existence.

She shook her head from her thoughts and smiled at her department head.

"It sounds...very interesting. Shall I head upstairs to fetch the reports then?"

The professor nodded and went back to his own desk in the back of the room where the glittering effect of the bell jar were less, but no less surrounded by the marching sounds of the clocks.

Department of International Magical Co-operation, indeed, there needs to be a Department Inter-Ministry Co-Operation. After thirty-five minutes of waiting and explaining to no less than six different people that she needed _all_ of the census reports, Hermione found herself levitating a stack of files as tall as herself back to the lift.

When she returned to her office she found that a small shelf had been placed alongside her desk for her to organize the papers. Hermione set herself to the task before her. She grabbed the largest report from the pile. While she had learned in her primary school that the United States had left the rule of England in the late 1700's, she always found the country to be rather odd. For instance, while here in Britain there was a distinct hatred between pureblood wizards and any association towards muggles, but if they chose not to associate themselves with non magical folks, then so be it. But in the states, there used to be a law that there was to be no contact muggles whatsoever. Hermione's parents were fully informed of her powers and capabilities, if she were in America at the time the law was in place, they would have lied to her parents and said she was going to a private school. Students here could bring their wands home with them during holidays, over there they were required to leave them at school. Odd, just odd.

Hermione opened the report. As thick as the report was, the Americans were wise to put a brief summary of facts at the top of each section. Under the statistics you could find the more detailed reports outlining the explanation. She flipped past the Geographical section, past the Businesses, Economy, Health (which she might have to refer to later), and opened the section on Population.

This section was fairly easy to read. It contained the population at the time of the census was conducted, a percentage change estimate, and a population estimate in the next ten years.

* * *

_**United States of America Magical Census of 2008**_

**People**

**Population**

Population, Census, April 1, 2008 **645,538**

Population, percentage change estimate, April 1, 2008- April 1, 2018 **-26%**

Population Estimates, April 1, 2018 **477,699**

* * *

'Wait…' she thought. She blinked her eyes and reread the page. Those numbers can't be correct. She grabbed a scrap piece of parchment and began the math. Within ten year the states would see a decrease of 167,839 magical people. That seemed like a bit much, considering they had not been engaged in any wizarding war since the late 1960's to 1970's in Vietnam.

Odd country, odd statistics…

She reached over to her newly acquired shelf and pulled the second largest file.

* * *

_**Russian Federation Magical Census of 2008**_

**People**

**Population**

Population, Census, April 1, 2008 **1,823,651**

Population, percentage change estimate, April 1, 2008- April 1, 2018 **-47%**

Population Estimates, April 1, 2018 **966,536**

* * *

'What in Merlin's name…'


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

**Present Day**

Apparently, when you break an international law, you are not sent to the prison in your own country, in this case Azkaban. No, Hermione had to take a portkey with four International Task Force Agents to the beautiful, but freezing island of Grytøya. Located in northern Norway, Grytøya was one of the smaller islands hosting an astounding population of 433 people. 32 of those were magical. Hidden below the tallest mountain on the island was Nona, the European holding facility for those serious non-law abiding folk.

There were no windows in her cell. If you could call a burrowed section of a mountain a cell. Her cave, as she came to call it, was about eight feet long, six feet wide in some places, with a low ceiling. All of which was rough mountain stone that was constantly dripping. The snow on top of the mountain had to melt somewhere. Fortunately, it melted everywhere but her bed. Even the guards didn't want to deal with mold.

She was stripped of her wand, her clothes, her necklace, even her wedding ring. She was given a gray prison jumpsuit with an equally dreary gray pair of slip on shoes. Here in Nona, unlike Azkaban, prisoners were expected to be productive in their cells during their time here. Hermione was given her case file, some outdated books on wizarding law, and funny enough, a set of knitting needles and yarn. Guards didn't like the cold as much as they didn't like mold apparently.

It was in the state of research and knitting that Draco Malfoy found his client sitting on her bed. The small blanket she was afforded was draped over her lap, the text was propped on an angle against her pillow as she worked the yarn through loops and needles.

"They actually gave you a pair of knitting needles?" He asked with a raised eyebrow as he placed his briefcase next to the chair that had been placed outside of her cell.

"These are sticks. Needles would imply that they had a pointed end. As these do not, then they are sticks, and they are ruining my attempt at a cabled cape." she sighed as she attempted to fix a stitch.

"Perhaps they were concerned that you would hurt yourself if they gave you real ones." Draco countered as he fished out his paperwork.

"Draco, we have known each other far too long to know that you are not that naive to think that after all I have done I would off myself with a pair of knitting needles." She rolled her eyes at the thought.

"For their own protection then…" he waved towards the cell block door at the end of the hall.

Hermione stopped reading, and the needles stilled. She looked up at Draco with a fire in her eyes that he had only ever seen once before, and it did not end well for his face. There was something powerful, intelligent, yet terrifying in that one glance. He watched as she tossed the blanket to the side and placed her bare feet on the damp stone floor. Her head was only a few inches from the cave ceiling, still clutching the pattern. She slid one of the sticks from her project and tossed the remaining stick and pattern onto her bed. Holding the stick in her right hand, he watched as she performed intricate circles, lines, and curves before giving her wrist one last flick.

He heard the lock of her cell door unlatch, then watched as it open a few inches.

"If they needed protection," she started then flicked her wrist once more causing the cell door to close and relatch, "then they should use better spells."

Draco stared at the cell door as Hermione returned to her spot on her bed. He knew she could perform some wandless magic, he had done a few simple spells himself from time to time. But to be able to channel your magic through an everyday object and not have a volatile result was something else.

Hermione calmly inserted her stick back into her pattern, placed the blanket back over her lap, and waited for him to begin. When it was clear that he was overthinking the possibility of her having the opportunity to escape, but choosing not to, she started the conversation.

"How's George?" she asked softly.

Draco physically shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"He's...coping. I mean, he's finding a way to deal with the fact that his wife basically committed treason, and put his whole family at risk."

"So, he's at work, is what you're trying to tell me?" she smiled as she hooked another loop.

"Yes, he's buried himself into potions and elixirs. Mumbling something about a healing potion, last I saw him." Draco explained, but noticed when the sticks paused at the word 'healing.'

"He's not to testify. Under any circumstance, he can't, Draco." she cracked and looked him dead in the eye.

"I remember what we agreed to. But right now, George is fine...or as fine as one can be given the circumstances. It's _you_ that you should be worried about. I mean, could this place be any more ghastly. Tell me they aren't feeding you bread and water." he sneered.

"I would actually welcome that. They serve a lot of fish. One in particular they call Lutefisk. Imagine someone taking a piece of your dinner chewing it for you, then spitting it back onto your plate and expecting you to eat it." Hermione tried not to gag as she explained. She could see the look on Draco's face out of the corner of her eye, he would not be eating fish anytime soon.

"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, however, we need to dive deep into what you have done and for Merlin's sake, why. We need to get in front of the Council with some hard facts, and maybe, just maybe some of that Golden Trio Protection Pixie Dust you carry around with you will get you a lesser sentence." Draco had his quill and parchment floating before him, ready to take copious notes.

"'All you need is a little faith, trust, and pixie dust'." she whispered into her pattern.

"What was that?" Draco asked.

"Nothing." Hermione smiled. "How many siblings do you have Draco?"

Draco sighed, "Granger, you know full well that I'm an only child."

"And your mother, she had two other sisters, what of your father?" she asked.

"Again, an only child. What are y-"

"Your father's father? Was he an only child as well?"

"Yes, but I don't see..."

"Is Astoria in good health? No recent trips to St. Mungo's, no fevers or illnesses?" she pressed.

"My wife has had her fair share of incidents, as we all have in the past. I don't see how this relates to you being trapped in a damn mountain!"

The cell block door at the end of the tunnel open. A Task Force Agent stepped into the hallway.

"Hva skjer her?" she asked as she pointed between the two of them.

"Nothing, it's fine. Bare snakker." he replied hoping she wouldn't end the conversation.

She didn't, but she also did not leave the hallway. Instead the agent chose to lean against an empty cell door with her hand on her wand holster.

"They don't like it when you yell." Hermione whispered as she leaned towards him. "Didn't know you spoken Norweigen."

"I speak many languages Granger. Would you like a lesson? Seeing as you are determined to spend the rest of your remaining days rotting in this cell?"

"You and I both know that won't be happening."

Draco sat straighter in his chair, was she…

"I'm going to need some things. If possible, could you acquire them for me?" she asked as she slid her feet into her shoes.

"Such as…?" he questioned.

"Newspapers. The Prophet, any American magical paper, Russian too, perhaps also Spain, and Australia. I also need better books, these law text are from the 1970's. Hardly going to help me. And…" she walked over to the bars of her cell, gripping the cold metal. "a few hair ties. If I let this go on any longer, those guards will need protection from my frizz.


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

**9 Years Before the Trial**

They had been married for almost three years. Not by choice, but they made it work. After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry enacted a Marriage Law. Single witches and wizards between the ages of 18 to 45 would need to be wed within a ten year period. Those currently in a relationship could simply register at the Ministry and have their names filed under "Intent to Wed." All others were subjected to the choosing of the Ministry. While she and Ron had tried to make it work, the aftermath of war affects people in different ways. Hermione wanted to go right back to school and finish what she believed to be the most important part of her wizarding life, while Ron was ready to jump right back into the fight. He took Shacklebolt on his offer to be accepted into the Auror program.

After the law was passed, letters went out. Hermione received hers as she was studying for her Charms exam that was to take place next week. She reached for her toast as an owl landed next to her pumpkin juice. The gray and white owl dropped her letter on the edge of her plate and flew off. That was when she noticed the wax seal of the Ministry and she was no longer hungry. She glanced around the Great Hall.

There weren't many of them that had returned. She was one of the few Gryffindors that had. At the moment she was sitting alone at her table, as it was still quite early. Most of the student body would be down in the next half hour. Only Professor Vector was at the head table, and even she looked as though she could use a strong cup of coffee. Hermione took advantage of this solitary moment. Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal. Inside the envelope was a simple cardstock with a Ministry watermark, charmed to notify the official that she had read and received the message.

With the flourish of a quill, some Ministry peon was tasked to write the names of those that they were to be betrothed. A promotion from the one that is assigned to lick the envelope before it's sealed.

George Weasley

Hermione sighed. How was she to feel about this? She wasn't relieved, nor was she disappointed. Being assigned to George carried its own problems. Suffering from crippling depression at times, having dated his younger brother, a business at risk of failing financially. Yet...there were moments when a hint of a smile could be seen on his face, the spark of an idea creates a twinkle in his blue eyes, the occasional, but montone, half-deaf joke leaves his lips. If anything, he was probably dreading this more than her.

Hermione folded the card and envelope and placed it in the pocket of her robes. Just in time too, as more students were filing into the hall. Hermione picked up her juice, as her tongue felt like sandpaper, just as Ginny maneuvered her way onto the bench across from her.

"Parvarti got her letter. She's refusing to leave the dorm. What's the muggle term for overexaggerating a situation?"

"Drama queen." Hermione said after she swallowed a large gulp. Why did her throat still feel like a desert?

"Right. Well Her Royal Highness is about to get a week's worth of detention if she skips all her classes. Are you all right? You look a bit pale." Ginny asked as she served herself some cereal.

"Just tired is all. I was up trying to translate a particularly hard text for Ancient Runes. As much as the Aztec culture is fascinating, their symbols look very similar." Hermione lied.

"So, no letter then?" her friend pushed.

"No, no, not yet. But if others are getting them, I'm sure it's just a matter of time."

By Friday, she could no longer hide it. Mrs. Weasley had sent a letter to both her and Ginny expressing her concerns and delight to have Hermione as an official family member. Paragraphs of wedding plans that were to be made had Hermione slamming her book down on the desk of the common room a little harder than she intended.

"I haven't even talked with him yet!"

"Calm down, it's just Mum's way of handling the situation. You handle stress by researching, I ignore the problem entirely, Mum plans weddings. Don't worry, you have ten years, by then Mum will have every detail down to the shade of each blade of grass." Ginny waved the letter nonchalantly towards her. "Besides, it'll finally be nice to have a sister. Adding Harry to the family will only add fuel to the testosterone fire that has been blazing my entire life."

Hermione smiled for the first time since the letter was shoved under her nose. It would be nice to have a family again. Her spellwork was always exquisite, down right perfect, unfortunately the memory charm she had placed on her parents was too good. She had tried to reverse it, had found them living in a small beach community, but after her failed attempt she was too afraid of causing damage that she had asked Shaklebolt for assistance.

Arnie Peasegood, a Hit-Wizard, and one of the best Obliviators in the UK had been sent done to help reverse her work. After a careful study of her parents, he had managed to get into their house at night to begin his work. But it was useless. The amount of time her parents had been in character, the lives they had created, the connections were too strong. Any more attempts to try and bring them back would cause severe damage. So much so, that a permanent stay in St. Mungo's would be likely.

Knowing that her parents life was far better a mile from the beach, then the harsh white light and sterile atmosphere of the hospital, Hermione took one of her mother's favorite necklaces from her jewelry box and returned to England.

She worried that necklace as she tried to remember where she placed her black wool scarf. Hogsmeade trips in January, as enjoyable it is to leave the castle for a few hours, can be bitterly cold. She had checked her trunk, and her side table, both places she would normally store said item. Finally, she resorted to looking under her bed, where she not only found one of her knee high socks, but the scarf as well.

After shaking out the dust that had collected on it, Hermione began her trek down the freshly cleared path towards the small village. She passed Hagrid on the way. Having been reinstated for a wand, he was slowly learning spells that he could use on the job. The warming charm he was producing was effective enough to clear the few inches of snow that remained on the path. But knowing that the village shopkeepers didn't worry themselves with the walkways or roads, Hermione came prepared with her snow boots. As she reached the gate of the castle, the sound of a light crunch could be heard in the treads. She ducked her face into the warmth of her scarf as a cold breeze went by. It was freezing, but sometimes it was better to feel anything other than the pain and sadness that inevitably comes after war.

A new fountain had been installed in the months after the war at the entrance to the small town. It was a memorial, much like the one that was in the Atrium of the Ministry pre-Voldemort. It had a tall wizard, that resembled the likes of Dumbledore, with a variety of school-aged children, house elves, a small hippogriff and thestral all facing the various locations of where battles took place in and near the village. The wizard had his wand pointed directly at the castle, giving the impression that he was guarding it from outside the gates. Water poured from the base in which the figures stood into a large basin filled with coins from passing shoppers. A small plaque informed that all donations went to assist in the renovation of the castle, town, and supplement cost of student fees.

As Hermione admired the fountain, the ring of a coin being flicked into the fountain came by her right ear. She watched as the galleon sailed over her shoulder, created a small splash, and the ripples caused by it were absorbed by the flowing water.

"Can't have a War Hero, such as yourself, paying full price for a quill and ink."

Hermione smiled and turned.

"The quill and ink I can afford. But the cost of wood to keep the castle warm has increased exponentially each term. Soon we'll have to go in the Forbidden Forest to cut our own if that keeps up." she replied with a pout.

George let out a huff through his nose. Not a laugh, but as close as she could to get one out of him these days.

"I'm sure the centaurs would love that, too many trees in their running path." he replied as he put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the snow covered road.

His hair had become darker in the recent months. The Weasleys were always identifiable by their red hair. Bill, Charlie, and Ron were the classic ginger color, during a majority of the year their hair was a flaming orange, but in the summer months it would become as close to blond as a ginger could get. Ginny's hair was the beautiful cascade of red that one could only dream of having. Those that tried would come out looking like they were wearing a wig for Halloween, where as she was the perfectly ripened tomato off the vine. The twins had a darker tone, but still fairly close the the ginger variety.

George's hair had grown more auburn over time. Maybe it was just a trick of light, or the fact that the white streak of hair down the top right side of his head gave the illusion that it was darker. Stress from the war had its physical repercussions, Molly had one too, but hers was slightly hidden in her wavy locks. George looked up when she didn't reply right away.

"I haven't had breakfast. Spent a great deal of my morning looking for my scarf. Would you like to join me?" she asked as she tilted her head with the question.

George gave a shrug. "Just not that Puddifoot's shop. Place creates more nausea than appetite."

Hermione wrapped her hand around one of his arms as they began to walk. She leaned towards him and whispered.

"Their tea isn't very good either."

It was a slow build, their relationship. It was almost forced to be. With Hermione finishing her last year of school, and George desperately trying to reclaim normalcy in his life without his better half. The shop could almost run on its own, but products could become stagnate, and shoppers wanted new stock, new ways to prank, new toys to enjoy, anything to bring back the laughter. However, it was hard to create those things when the inventor didn't laugh anymore.

It was during April holiday that Hermione had come back into the London area. She was tying up some loose ends with her parent's house and decided to reward herself of the final sale of the estate with a trip to Diagon Alley. There was a new book coming out regarding Ancient Runes of a Zanzibar culture and its descent into the Swahili language used today. Though she doubted it would be sold out, she still wanted to get there early to get her copy, and possibly find her way over to the ice cream parlour for some toasted almond.

With book in arm, and ice cream in hand she traveled down the road towards the obnoxiously colored magenta and orange building of jokes and laughs. She didn't think George would be in this early, but she would try and stop by nonetheless.

The small chimes on the door almost sounded like cathedral bells within the quiet shop. A young girl that Hermione recognized as one of the till keepers popped her head out from behind a shelf. Hermione smiled and walked further into the shop and browsed the products. She could hear the girl placing items on the shelf and then make her way to the back of the shop.

Hermione passed the barrels of wrapped candies that caused a variety of ailments. She could remember giving the twins a good lashing for testing them on students. She would never admit it out loud, but they were clever. Not that she promoted missing class, but still quite clever.

Taking another bite of her ice cream she perused the various Whiz-Bangs and read the descriptions of how each firework were to appear when ignited. There was a series of small purple ones that resembled muggle firecrackers, but when each one exploded it created the planets within the solar system, '_complete with sun, moons, and rotations_.' She had a vision of igniting such a display and view it from the Astronomy Tower. It sounded rather lovely.

She turned in her travels only to face a crate filled with telescopes. In her experience, Hermione knew that these were not to be used for viewing purposes. She unconsciously grabbed the charm on her necklace and began to slide it back and forth on the chain.

"Don't worry, they've been charmed not to go off until purchased. Unless you use the tester scope."

And there he was, hands in pockets, almost shy in his body language. Wearing what could pass as casual clothes in the muggle world, with a light blue button down shirt, no tie, instead a pair of safety goggles hung from his neck, and a pair of khaki pants. A far cry from his earlier business attire.

"That is a very wise idea," she replied dropping her charm.

"It only took one person to mistakenly get hit in the face before we ...before adjustments were made for safety purposes." George had paused, but smiled at his explanation.

"Must have hit someone very important to you." she smirked.

"Time will tell…"

She spent most of the day with him in the back of the shop. She was grateful for the entertaining conversations, he was happy for the distraction. As she listened to him tell the tale of when the Cycling Dolores Umbridge had been knocked off her tight rope by a wayward Whiz-Bang, causing George to trip over her, land in a section of Portable Swamp, but not before trying to reclaim his balance by knocking over the Nose Biting Teacup display. Needless to say the latter of the two are no longer displayed near each other. She grimaced as she played with her necklace when he showed the small scar on his hand from one of the cups.

"Not nearly as impressive as Bill's scar, but a battle wound nonetheless." He quipped, as he took a moment to watch her reaction. "You tend to fiddle with your necklace when you're worried, more so when you're listening intently. May I see it?"

Hermione had realized at this point she had the charm and chain pulled so close to her left ear that she could hear the charm scratching against the surface of the chain. She released the charm to the base of her throat and reached back for the clasp.

"It was my mother's." She explained as she slowly dropped it in his hand.

George reached for a drawer on the side of the table and pulled out, what looked to be a jewelers magnifier. Placing it up against one eye and inspected the chain first.

"Real gold, 24 karats, some wearing on the links, but not bad." He moved the chain under his lens to the small star charm. "Same gold as the chain, real diamond too. I'd wager a quarter of karat, maybe a little less."

He removed his lens and held the necklace with both hands. Hermione watched the process of a creative idea grow across his face. It started with a series of blinks, like he had never seen the object before, then the movement of the eyes, moving away from the object to various points of the room, not really taking them in. Then there was a slight flare to the nostrils, and the slow straightening of the spine. Until finally, an explosion of movement. He was off his stool so fast, it nearly tipped, he caught the edge of it as he stood to stop its progress to the ground. Then his hand went immediately to his pocket to retrieve his wand. All the while mumbling.

"24 karat gold...strong enough...chain length could be a factor… the more personal the item, the stronger the charm?"

Hermione was so taken aback by the process that it took her a moment to wonder if he was going to place a full body jinx on her mother's necklace. As soon as the thought came to mind she was on her feet and followed him to his work bench. He had taken to his chair, pushed some paperwork to the side and had his wand at the ready by the time she was ready to stop him. His head jerked up suddenly and he was on his feet again facing her. He stood so close that she could smell the after shave on his face. His hands and grip of his wand held her cheeks to face him.

"Trust me…" was all he whispered before he sat back down and began to draw intricate designs with his wand. She watched as her mother's necklace began to glow a warm yellow, almost like a ray of sunlight through the thick branches of trees in a forest. When he was done, he lifted the necklace off the desk and stood in front of her again. Grabbing the two ends of the chain, she felt his hands brush up against the side of her neck, causing a slight shiver and her heart to pause. He caught the latch and let the chain fall back on her neck.

A wave of relaxation passed through her. It was more than the comfort of having her necklace returned. It was odd, because the last time she felt light was when she took off the horcrux almost a year ago.

"A relief charm. Every time you're worried about something, you simply have to touch it, and it will absorb your anxiety. Could come in handy as you are about to take your N.E.W.T.s." Hands in pockets, a shy smile on his face.

Hermione reached for one of those hands, and took it in both of hers. It was more than exam worries, they both knew that. But this was a start.

"Thank you."


End file.
